A nostalgic account of saving up your dinner money for a pack of John Player Specials, Northern Soul nights and Britain's golden age of smoking

(Sabotage Times) ... First time out, I opted for a pack of Craven A. I was attracted by the clean, red and white livery and the promise of a ‘smooth’ smoke. The first time I got them out, an older (13 year old) sophisticate dismissed them as ‘tasting like teabags’. I never bought them again. It could have been worse – certain brands would get you mocked out of the door. Rothmans, with their too light filter and the perfectly manicured nails of the bloke holding them in the advert, were soft. Silk Cut – forget about it. The cinema commercials were hilarious, but you may as well wear a pink tutu if you were planning to come out with low tar cigarettes. If you even considered menthol- you should just go to the woods and hang yourself immediately to avoid the years of unremitting persecution.
Second time out, my saved up dinner money went towards some John Player Specials and they got a far better reception. The key was the shiny black pack. Schoolies were like magpies when it came to fag packets, with the silver of Lambert and Butler being a particular favourite of the pre-teen night club set. An ostentatious lad could get away with the wide box, extra length and discreet silver strip of Dunhill International.
The girls could push things even further, using the cigs themselves as fashion accessories. For a young lass in Northern England in the late 1970s; nothing marked you out as a free spirit like a coloured Sobraine Cocktail with a gold foil filter, nothing screamed elegance more than the kiss of lip gloss against a skinny, dark brown More cigarillo. Continued